


Don't Outbest the Best

by pleasantly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, M/M, Mind Games, PTSD John, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Supernatural Elements, Telepathy, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-14 18:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16497710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasantly/pseuds/pleasantly
Summary: John Watson knew it wasn't normal to be able to hear the incoherent whispers of passers-by, sometimes they were loud and he had to run to the nearest pharmacy to calm the increasingly painful migraines. He sometimes heard people talking to him through thoughts, it was mainly; "Who are you?", then he'd leave them be.Nobody's thoughts screamed louder than Sherlock Holmes' however, and his incredibly guarded nature conflicted with his loud mind. He would stare at John with resentment when he heard his voice in his mind, and it wasn't uncommon to feel a stern slap across the head when he was listening in to his screaming thoughts.Watson knew he needed to utilise this power.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Some parts may seem questionable, but just go with it, please and thank you :)

John Watson found himself bandaging the wounded leg of a soldier, the soldier was gripping onto the arm of the torn leather chair. Profanities slipped by his lips as smooth as butter, and Watson managed to ignore his constant grunts and just get to work on keeping the wound from getting any oxygen, his hand forcing pressure upon it.  
“Quite a nasty one” He muttered, perhaps not the most reassuring, it was a bullet through the calf, nothing fatal but certainly unpleasant. The soldier groaned and jolted half-heartedly as he pressed the bandaged down tightly to his leg.  
“You’re telling me, Doc” The soldier’s voice was deep and gravelly, certainly tired, on the brink of exhaustion. Watson looked up at the soldier for a brief moment, his hand was over his eyes, fingers gripping his temples tightly. Watson finally removed his hand from the bandage, sealing it down and looking around it.  
“Comfortable?” He questioned with a raise of his brow, he heard a groan in response and noticed the soldier nod his head. ‘Yeah, right, I’ve a hole through my leg, you prick’ He heard, the voice of resentment was faint but very clear.  
“I beg your pardon?” Watson furrowed his brows, looking at the solider with disdain and shock, rising to his feet. The soldier opened his eyes with bewilderment, he never said a word. “W-What?” He questioned, glancing around to avoid eye contact with the disrespected doctor. Watson simply let an unconvinced, ‘hm’, sneak out as he looked down at the state of the soldier.

“Will I be able to walk, Doc?” The soldier asked, his sweat dripping into his hairline, black hair glistening against the bright sun that shone through the tent’s seams. “Maybe not for five or six months, sir” Watson replied and saw all light leave the soldier’s face. “You may be sent back to England on medical leave” He delivered the news slowly and watched as the soldier tried to rise, grunting as he did.  
“Please, no! Please say there’s some way I can serve!?” He exclaimed in desperation, his eyes wide and scared. ‘Please, I just want to protect my country’ The faint voice said, it was sad and filled with desperation.  
“I’m deeply sorry, but thank you for your service so far” Watson replied and watched as it seemed the soldier’s eyes seemed watery.  
‘My wife will be so disappointed’ The faint voice cried, and while the soldier had no tears, the voice appeared to be crying. “Your wife will be thankful for you serving thus far” He added, glancing to the man’s fingers, he had no ring.  
“H-How did you know I have a wife?” The soldier questioned, he was panicked, and exhausted. “You said she’d be...disappointed...no matter, we’ll supply you with a pair of crutches for your departure” Watson informed and made his way past various doctors and nurses who scurried around as he approached a rack of medical supplies, crutches by the nearest wall.

His hand took a hold of the cold metal and he held them close to his chest, walking past the nurses and doctors.  
‘He better survive, can’t get the bullet out of his chest’.  
‘I’ve to warn them of a…’  
‘Doctor Shepard, Doctor Shepard, where’s the bastard’.

All these thoughts waved over him like a rampage, they were all different voices, some louder than others.  
‘Am I losing my mind?’ Watson asked himself as he approached his injured soldier, hearing the groans he emitted, he propped the crutches next to the chair. Watson brought him through the general procedure of using crutches and as he practised, he wrote up a summary of his medical leave, which was then down to his commander to handle from then forth.  
The soldier wobbled on the crutches, being directed by Watson to where they had a care unit, where he’d rest until he was given a plane back to England. With the situation explained to a nurse, Watson went on to the next patient, however he was incredibly bewildered as to what those voices were.

\---

John Watson found himself living a mundane life now, after being dispatched after a strike to the shoulder with a bullet, he found himself in the same routine; Wake up, attend therapy, return to flat and ponder for the rest of the day, sleep.  
Something he found enjoyment in was hearing the voices of passers-by. He figured out what happened to him a few years into the war before his dispatch. He found himself to be able to read minds, and even communicate through thoughts.

He came across many common thoughts, people who were running late, women wondering if it was that time of the month, boys wondering when the next time they would go training for sports, so on, so forth. Watson preferred to tune into more interesting conversations, perhaps it was quite invasive of him, rude, a bit manipulative even whenever he decided to interrupt the thoughtful conversations.  
He stood near the train tracks, waiting for the train to pull up when a voice slightly louder than the others around him, interrupted his state of peace. He looked over his shoulder and saw a large man, staring down at his wristwatch with wide eyes and a worried expression.  
‘Where am I going to find a doctor on short notice...oh no, this is terrible!’ The voice exclaimed, the large man pulling his shirt sleeve over his watch, Watson couldn’t help but let out a tiny snicker. A doctor was simply a feet away, and maybe it was coincidence...or karma that he got a phone call.

“Hello? Dr. John Watson speaking?” He spoke, seeing the familiar name on the phone when he answered. He heard a gasp behind him, a real one, not a thought made one. “Oh, Mrs. Arrold, what a surprise, how are you?” He questioned, light conversation continuing. “He’s walking! That’s incredible! I didn’t expect the bullet wound to be so severe, it seemed like a usual procedu-, oh, he tried walking on it” He chuckled as he felt a presence behind him as the train came a halting screech. “This has been a lovely conversation, Mrs. Arrold, but I must leave, thank you, okay, bye, bye, bye-bye-bye” He repeated as he hung up, and jumping when there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir” The voice spoke, he turned to see the large man. His skin sagged off his skull like an ill fitting jumper, bright blue eyes piercing into him as he stared John right in the eye. His wrinkles intensified as he raised his eyebrows.  
“Hello? Who are you?” Watson questioned, looking the man up and down to inspect, he seemed normal enough. A white button up held his large stomach in, while the bottom bulged out through his trousers, the inner thigh seams seemed to be holding on for dear life. “Harry Stannford, I couldn’t help but overhear you refer to yourself as a doctor, is that true?” He asked, the train doors beginning to open but Watson remained on the platform to hear this desperate man out. Watson nodded, a relieved smile spread across Stannford’s face, and a sigh of relief as well.  
“Yes, I served as a doctor in the military for a number of years” Watson answered, Stannford’s hands rubbing together gleefully, but stuck together with sweat.  
“So short notice, but, I work with Scotland Yard and it was my duty to find a doctor in the field to extract bullets from a man, it’s evidence, and...I’ve yet to find a doctor for the job...and if you were to come with me, there will be a large sum of money if you attend” Stannford reported, the story could be incredibly fake, but the whispers of the man’s thoughts were desperate. “Any form of identification?” Watson requested, hearing the train begin to shuffle away, and the man quickly went into his wallet, pulling out a small ID card and Watson let out a small hum.

To go home and ponder his decisions in life thus far seemed very desirable at that moment, but with the state he was in now and the idea of a large sum of money seemed so pretty in thought.  
“Does there need to be a doctor, immediately?” Watson raised an eyebrow and Stannford nodded quickly, “One moment” He added.  
Stannford pulled out his phone, quickly going through his contacts and calling a number. “Lestrade, I’ve a doctor to remove the evidence-! I know, I’m sorry, okay...j-just send a car, outside of St Pancras International...it doesn’t matter how I found one, I found one and he’s qualified-” Stannford spoke into the phone and the voice of a frustrated man on the other end yelled at him, his eyes turned to Watson who nodded at being qualified.  
“We’ll be outside the station, yeah, speak to him? Oh, okay” He pulled the phone away, handing it to Watson.

“Hello” John began, awaiting a reply.  
“Hello, so you’re the ‘doctor’ employed to this job? Can I ask your name?”.  
“John Watson” He replied and heard the clicking of perhaps keyboard keys on the other end.  
“Dr. Watson, served in the military as a doctor I can see, served three years in Afghanistan” The voice repeated probably off of police or military records. Stannford’s hand gestured for Watson to follow him off the platform and up into the streets of London.  
“Yes, sir” He replied, practically jumping up the stairs of the station.  
“Alright, so, while this is very irresponsible to grab someone off of the street, there are no other doctors on hand today and it’s an urgent situation, we’ve a man who was taken hostage, and they seemed to have implanted a bullet in him or some other object and it’s crucial evidence, as probably promised, there is a sum of money for the task” The man concluded, his voice had an essence of finality,  
“I’m up to the task, sir” Watson replied as they pushed past everyday people, their whispers flooding his head as they exited the building, finding a black car quickly pulling up outside the station.

“Perfect” Was the final word and the phone call ended, Watson handing the phone to Stannford. His face was flushed from rushing around as he opened the doors of the car for Watson, nodding to show his gratitude. Stannford’s thoughts had quietened down as he got into the opposite side of the car, he was just glad he found a doctor. Watson had a feeling he wasn’t going to have a good experience with the man on the phone later on, especially if that was his superior. 

“Oh, Dr. Watson, there’s someone you should be told about” Stannford began as the car began to quickly make it’s way throughout the city. “He...well, he’s not ‘normal’, you could say, I think he’s pretty strange at least, his name is Sherlock Holmes...maybe you’ve heard of him”.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip home on a train seemed like a simple enough task to just...well, get home. However, after a man stops Watson in his tracks, he finds himself on a journey to extract evidence for New Scotland Yard.

John listened to Stannford, he rambled on about this Sherlock character, he seemed interesting enough but by the way he was being described seemed biased. Maybe he just didn’t get along with Stannford. He listened to his rambling half-heartedly, not truly paying attention so he showed his disinterest by simply beginning a new conversation topic. As they talked, with awkward tension, the car came to a slow stop, and the driver announced this was their destination; New Royal London Hospital.

Watson peered out the window with curiosity, examining the large building with an abundance of blue tiles. He exited the car and noticed a man standing outside, greying hair stuck to his head and grey eyebrows that were knitted together in frustration. The man’s head rose and he seemed to let out a sigh and smiled in Watson’s direction, quickly approaching, hand beginning to rise to shake his hand. John shook his hand carefully while the man’s grip was quite strong and his eyes turned to Stannford and his expression turned to further frustration before turning to Watson once more.

“Dr Watson, great to meet you, Greg Lestrade, detective inspector for New Scotland Yard” The man introduced himself, letting go of his hand as he guided the two men into the hospital.

“We’ve me, police sergeant Sally Donovan and detective Sherlock Holmes, then we have the patient himself” Lestrade continued as he quickly made his way through the hospital, bringing them down an open hallway.

“Any information on the patient? That I should know, like, any kind of explosives or...uh, any medical issues that could interfere?” Watson asked as they walked past a series of doors, the reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on him and he was wondering if he should have agreed to a sudden procedure. There was truly no doctors throughout the hallways, nurses did happen to appear but most were pushing patients in wheelchairs or beds. 

“He’s under anaesthetic because he was quite panicked, and we’re unsure of explosives, just bullets that are in the skin, not penetrating through the opposite sides” Lestrade told him hurriedly as they stopped outside a closed door. The slim window into the room was distorted but it was obvious there were figures in there and their voices seem to collide.  
‘I shouldn’t have left those two alone in there’ A voice similar to Lestrade’s rang through Watson’s ear, he seemed like a very collected man but he noticed the underlying stress through his thoughts voice. Another voice, however, was yelling, loud and it pierced through his temples, the voice was subdued however due to the wall but he was dreading to hear it behind the door.

“Stannford, stay here, Watson, follow me” Lestrade instructed as the door closed and the chatter between the two figures stopped immediately, and they both turned away from each other. One of the figures now was a young woman, curly hair held back in a large, clean ponytail. Her face was stern and stiff, she radiated tension and voices from her ran on quickly, most sentences didn’t even complete when another thought would interrupt. Her arms were crossed stiffly, and she looked across to Watson and smiled slightly and uncrossed her arms to hold her hand out. 

“Sally Donovan, police sergeant” She introduced politely, smiling as she did.  
“Dr John Watson” He replied back, taking her hand and giving it a quick shake before pulling away. The man on the other side had his back turned and most voices came from him, the subdued voices were certainly louder but since their arrival, they quietened down. They were incoherent and distorted, unpleasant to say the least. Watson could only see the tall figure from behind, thin frame hidden beneath a large coat, collar popped up, a mess of curly black hair atop his head. He couldn’t distinguish the face from the window’s reflection, just a pale face with unrecognisable features.

“That’s Sherlock, don’t pay him any mind…” Donovan whispered to him as she guided to him to where the man was, behind a blue hospital curtain. “He’s a bit of a freak, a psychopath if you ask me” She muttered, not afraid if he overheard.

“Highly...functioning...sociopath” A disgruntled voice interrupted, and Watson peeped at the man by the window, Holmes, as he spoke. He remained with his back turned.  
“Whatever” Donovan responded as she placed a hand on Watson’s shoulder to guide him past the curtain.

“Seriously, if I were you, I’d ignore him, he doesn’t get paid to be here...he probably jacks off to just seeing a man unconscious” She continued as she watched Watson inspect the body, picking up a piece of paper which held general information, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the woman’s choice of words. 

He stood reading the information when suddenly the curtain was opened viciously, causing him to almost jump from his skin. He turned around and found himself face to face...or more face to chest with the man who was in their presence, in obvious shock.

“Unlike you, Sally, I have the respect to not jack off another woman’s husband” The detective retorted, resentment spitting off his lips at the visibly appalled woman.   
“Apologies, Watson” The man said without care, not even turning to look at him before turning to stare at the body of the man.

“And I have much higher standards than him if that information piques your interest” Sherlock finished off, dusting off the sleeve of his coat, glancing down at John and giving him a shallow smirk. He didn’t leave the area, he seemed far too interested in watching Watson proceed with his work. His eyes felt like they burned into his skull, ready to speculate and judge whenever he saw fit.

John tried to ignore the peering eyes. He hadn’t had such a crowd watch him work in years, he simply went on as he would any other procedure.   
‘It’s just like Afghanistan, but with English people, in nicely dressed clothes, and there are no bomb threats, and it’s cloudy outside, and...focus!’.

John took a shallow breath before reaching over to a metal table, taking a pair of disposable gloves and slipping them on easily. He walked over to the sedated man, viewing over him before accessing the problem area. His thigh.  
He carefully removed the bandages from his thigh, noticing the dried blood around the skin, but it wasn’t the main concern at that moment. He felt the pressure of eyes but soon enough, he felt comfortable in his own skin to continue, taking a pair of tweezers, carefully pulling the penetration wound open, peering into the wound, where the lamp above the patient shone down on the wound. 

“I don’t think it should be removed, he’ll more than likely die from blood loss…” John informed, seeing the reflective surface of the bullet penetrated deeply in the thigh, though there was a part that didn’t reflect. Was it a risk to delve in and try to find what it was? A hundred percent, but if this was a case of evidence, he truly had no choice.

He brought the tweezers into the wound, a soft squelch of blood and skin pressing against the tweezers. His hands moved incredibly slowly, trying not to shake as he performed the procedure. As he inched closer to the bullet, he found it to merely be a shell, with a hollow entrance, minus a tiny slip of...paper. He took a small breath, holding in before he exhaled, placing pressure on the tweezers and extracting the small piece of paper, cautious not to let it slip from the grip, feeling the laminated surface almost slip from the grasp. He slowly brought it out and once it was outside the wound, he let out the breath, placing the laminated paper on the table where supplies lay.

He remembered the concentrate as an increasingly loud voice pierced his ears, it came from behind him, from the other detective. He ignored it, however, placing the tweezers down on the table and proceeded to disinfect the wound, hearing the shuffle of feet around him, and the muttered quarrel between the woman and man. 

Watson ignored the pair, and the loud voices, as he stitched the wound tightly, the shell containing the paper would simply have scar tissue grown around it, it was better to leave it in than have it removed, and let the man die. He wrapped the problem area in the bandage before straightening up, taking a deep, quiet breath, before removing the disposable gloves from his hands, splattered in dark blood around the fingertips.

“I didn’t expect you to actually retrieve something” The Sherlock character muttered, taking one of the disposable gloves John had put on the table and using it to pick up the laminated paper, which he shielded from being seen by Donovan.   
“Thanks? I guess” Watson responded, hearing the door of the room open, and the familiar figure of Lestrade enter past the curtains, noticing the bloodied, laminated paper in Sherlock’s gloved hand. 

“There wasn’t a bullet, it was the shell of one, and it contained a piece of paper, in his hand” Watson explained and felt his hand be gripped tightly and shook roughly.  
“Thank you for helping us, we appreciate it a great load” Lestrade smiled at him, releasing his hand and proceeding to push past Donovan to peer at the letter, Sherlock holding it above his head as he seemed to study the letter intensely, the voices emitting from him becoming distorted, and working incredibly fast. Soon enough, he placed it back down on the metal table and turned to look at Watson, eyes narrowing and scanning over him before he let a short ‘hm’ pass his lips. 

“Allow me to properly introduce myself, Sherlock Holmes” He cleared his throat, holding his hand out at a short distance which John took and sternly shook before Holmes’ quickly pulled his hand back.  
“John Watson” He nodded in response, looking up at the man, finally seeing what he looked like. Blue eyes stared down with concentration, as they were anticipating something. Sharp cheekbones stood out as they hollowed out by his cheeks, it was unique, gave him a look that fit his character perhaps. His thin lips were held in a straight line, stern and followed the concentrated look of his eyes.

“You are quite the person, aren’t you? Missed a train, to where? Just outside London, I presume, and not a wink of sleep either, and stress has certainly taken its toll, especially with that lack of a smile” Sherlock listed off, and Watson looked over himself, wondering what information he was gathering by simply looking at him, stood in the most basic outfit he could come up with. 

“Surprised?” Sherlock smiled, but the smile was empty, his lips simply moved yet no other wrinkle in his face happened to be affected.   
“We can talk more about this at a certain date, you intrigue me, Watson”.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting something on this and I realise it's not as good as other writers on here but if you took the time out of your day to read this, thank you so much :)


End file.
